


the regret of a meaningless forever

by imadetheline



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bonding, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt Luke Skywalker, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Darth Vader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27928123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imadetheline/pseuds/imadetheline
Summary: He can’t move, his feet fixed firmly to the floor, and his gaze focused on the apparition. It’s the woman from Vader’s mind, dark-haired and beautiful and infinitely sad. She feels familiar, somehow.Before he can even begin to place where he knows her from, Vader explodes in the Force. Angry tendrils of darkness and wrath reaching, searching. The temple shakes, and still, Luke is unable to move. He feels terror fill him. Vader doesn’t seem to notice.
Relationships: Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader
Comments: 112
Kudos: 333
Collections: Luke and Vader Bonding





	1. it’s easier to call it a ghost than guilt

**Author's Note:**

> all titles are excerpts from poems or musings of mine
> 
> inspired by chapter 6: illusion, of To the Suns and Back by LittleRobinRedbreast found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21613297/chapters/52614931#workskin) It's a collection of one-shots and I highly recommend it. 
> 
> set after ANH and Vader knows Luke is his son
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy!

He’s an unmovable wall in the Force. Luke struggles against the painful grip of the dark glove on his upper arm but to no avail. The towering wall just pulls him forward, his heels scraping against the rough-hewn rock of the ancient temple. He came here to see if he could find any information of the Jedi but instead had only run face-first into none other than Darth Vader. He’d been no match for the Sith lord. The binders now around his wrists don’t restrict his use of the Force, but he doesn’t have the slightest clue as to how to get them off. He can barely lift a rock as it is, let alone figure out the lock's mechanics using only the Force. He curses his lack of training for the billionth time. 

His gaze darts to the domineering figure of Darth Vader still pulling him through the temple to his ship. It’s this monster’s fault Ben didn’t have time to train him. “Let me go!” he yells again, pulling again. He knows it won’t work, but there’s not much else he can do. If Vader wants him alive, he’ll take him alive. 

Sure enough, the grip doesn’t loosen. “Stop resisting, or you will regret it, young one.” 

Luke’s still afraid, knows the only reason the empire wants him alive is that he blew up the death star, and they want to make him suffer for it. But Vader’s words spark his anger once more. This man murdered Ben, murdered his father. Luke digs his heels into the rock and yells, shoving with all his might against the black walls of Vader’s mind. Something cracks. Luke sees flashes of a sad dark-haired woman before he retreats from the darkness of the sith’s mind. Vader pauses, and his iron grip on Luke’s arm falters.

Luke takes an unsteady step back, breathing heavily from the exertion and trying to refocus. He’s never used the Force like that, isn’t quite sure what he did, but the entrance to the temple is in sight, bright light pouring through the opening. Now’s his chance to escape. He takes a step forward, but then Vader is turning swiftly, cape snapping against the ground. Luke swallows audibly, his mouth too dry. If Vader was vaguely disinterested, now he’s enraged. Luke’s distraction, which had exhausted him, seems to have only served to annoy the dark lord into actual anger. He can feel the rage pouring off the man. It’s akin to burning, Luke thinks idly.

He steps back, trying to call again on the Force, but it slips from his grasp. Vader’s footsteps are heavy against the stone floor, echoing off the high walls. Luke doesn’t know where he’s going to go, but he spins quickly and prepares to run. Suddenly, the echoing footsteps are gone, only the steady breathing of the respirator filling the silence. And then, “What is this?” comes Vader’s chilling voice, but somehow it’s not as menacing. Luke turns slowly, eyeing Vader’s still form. He doesn’t appear to be talking to Luke. His mask fixed on some point over Luke’s shoulder. The rage that had been filling the Force is gone, replaced by emptiness, everything pulled behind Vader’s shields.

The exit is once again in reach, Vader’s eerie stillness not enough to dissuade Luke from taking the opening. He steps slowly and carefully around the imposing figure. The Force is whispering something, but Luke doesn’t have the training to know what. But even he doesn’t need training to see the small tornado of dust whipped together out of nowhere. He stands, blue eyes transfixed as the dust and wind coalesce into the shape of a woman.

He can’t move, his feet fixed firmly to the floor, and his gaze focused on the apparition. It’s the woman from Vader’s mind, dark-haired and beautiful and infinitely sad. She feels familiar, somehow.

Before he can even begin to place where he knows her from, Vader explodes in the Force. Angry tendrils of darkness and wrath reaching, searching. The temple shakes, and still, Luke is unable to move. He feels terror fill him. Vader doesn’t seem to notice.

Dust swirls, and small pebbles patter against the ground, raining down from the force of Vader’s emotion. Still, the apparition doesn’t falter. Tears are forming in her dark eyes, so similar to Leia’s. She reaches for Vader, “Come away with me.” It’s an echo, a whisper. Luke’s not even sure how it’s audible over the storm surrounding them.

“Stop this!” Vader’s voice rings out, but there’s a tinge of… panic? If something can make Darth Vader panic, Luke doesn’t want to be there. He needs to snap Vader out of this if either of them is going to survive. The temple can’t take much more.

“It’s not real!” he tries, urging his body to move. Vader ignores him. His fingers don’t so much as twitch.

“Leave everything else behind while we still can,” comes the woman’s voice again, echoing with pain. Luke can only watch as Vader takes a hesitant step forward, his hand rising towards her. It falters in the space between them. “Anakin, you’re breaking my heart.”

Luke’s heart stops. Anakin? His father? His mind spins, trying to orient itself. Who is this woman, and how does she know his father? What’s her connection to Vader?

His frantic jumble of thought is cut off by the crashing of a piece of the temple ceiling, not two feet from where he’s frozen. The Force of it shakes the ground. Luke thinks if he wasn’t stuck to the ground, he might have fallen. 

Vader shows no sign he’s even noticed. The maelstrom around them gains force, and suddenly one of the tentacles of rage spears straight for the rock. It explodes in a hail of stone and sharp projectiles. One jagged rock cuts right across Luke’s shin, and he hisses. He can feel the sticky blood slowly dripping down his leg, but he can’t see it, unable to look down.

The fear filling him is replaced entirely by anger and frustration. Anger at Vader for not noticing the imminent danger he’s causing for both of them, frustration at the woman he’s sure is responsible for freezing him to the kriffing floor. 

He has no clue what he’s doing, but he did it earlier, so he can do it again. This time when he pushes out with the Force, it’s not as powerful. He doesn’t know if he has enough strength for that. Thankfully, Vader is still distracted; the woman still whispering. Luke tunes them out, searching for the crack he felt from the last time he shoved at Vader’s walls. 

Sure enough, there a slight opening in the darkness, between the flailing tendrils of darkness. Somehow their movement seems less malicious and more panicked, confused. After all, they’ve yet to touch Luke. Something Leia said about all rage being born of grief floats to the front of his mind. It’s probably important, but he doesn’t have time for it, so he pushes it aside and pushes through the hole in Vader’s defenses.

“It’s not real!” he yells again, this time only through the Force in Vader’s mind. No sooner has he thought it than the darkness is spearing straight for him. Vader still hasn’t moved. Luke doesn’t think he’s even conscious of anything outside the woman. It’s just a defense mechanism to another presence invading his mind. 

Suddenly, Luke can move. He almost collapses, his legs numb, and one still leaking blood. It’s too late, though. Darkness is wrapped around his throat, squeezing. He sputters and grabs at his neck, but there’s nothing there for him to pry off. The ceiling is collapsing in earnest. Luke can only watch in despair as the first column falls, his throat constricting.

He summons all the strength he can manage and stumbles a few steps forward, his fingers still scrabbling at his throat. “Please… stop,” he tries, projecting the plea into Vader’s mind as he takes a few more steps towards the eye of the storm that circles around Vader and the ghost.

There’s no response. His leg aches, and he can’t breathe, but finally, after what seems like eons, he reaches Vader. Black spots crowd Luke’s vision as he reaches for the man. His hand lands on Vader’s arm, the leather warm under his arm. Strange, he thinks dazedly, the man’s Force presence is so cold he had not expected the heat emanating from the man. He squeezes Vader's arm with what little strength he has left, hoping to attract the man’s attention. “Please,” he tries again. It’s barely a whisper in the Force.

But there’s an answer this time, a question, “Luke?” And then everything explodes. The constricting darkness around his throat disappears, and he falls even as he sees the ceiling above him do the same. Something catches him, and he sees Vader’s arm reach toward the ceiling, rock stopping midair, but Luke's strength finally fails him, his vision fading. A comforting cold wraps around him, and he thinks he catches the faint scent of flowers before he knows no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do plan to continue this but I have a lot of other wips to work on and I don't have this planned out so I'm not sure how often updates will be. If you do like this, please bear with me :)


	2. is it you the ghosts haunt or themselves?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then Vader is in front of him again, “I told you not to move, young one.”
> 
> Luke scoffs, “And what makes you think I’d listen to you?” Apparently, not even his fear makes him better at self-preservation. He’s been spending too much time with Han. In the darkness, his hand scrambles on the ground next to him, searching for a rock, anything that he can use as a weapon. His frantic search turns up nothing before his arm is grabbed in a tight, but not painful, grasp and he’s tugged to his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter, sooner and longer than expected! I'm making stuff up about the Force so please excuse any nonsense, as well as random historical events. Hope you enjoy!

Luke groans, and it echoes in his ears. He’s cold. Feeling starts trickling back to him as he blinks, and he realizes his body isn’t actually cold. The cold is in the back of his brain, wrapped around his senses. His body is actually warm, too warm. He finally pulls his eyes open, pushing off the heavy material suffocating him. It feels oddly like a blanket. 

“Do not move,” pierces right through his still foggy mind. The words don’t register, but the voice does. Memories and pain wash over him in a rush as he makes out the blinking lights of Vader’s chest plate reflecting off the skeletal mask. 

The fear he’d forgotten in the midst of whatever madness had led them to this situation floods back in, clouding his senses. He ignores the warning and jerks back. His leg screams at him to stop, and his body protests. Still, he pushes himself away from the man. But it’s dark, and he doesn’t know where to go. The Force is oddly clouded, and Vader’s swirling storm doesn’t help. His back ends up slamming into a large slab of rock, and he grunts. Apparently, being choked leaves your whole body sore and weak, not just your throat, which is also screaming at him.

Vader’s form pauses, and there’s a whoosh of fabric through the air. Luke barely manages to register that it’s probably Vader returning his cape to his shoulders after it had been wrapped around Luke before the man is stalking towards him again, darker than the darkness in the partially collapsed temple. All previous questions about capes and warmth are forgotten as Luke tries to swallow some of his fear. It burns going down, his throat protesting. And then Vader is in front of him again, “I told you not to move, young one.”

Luke scoffs, “And what makes you think I’d listen to you?” Apparently, not even his fear makes him better at self-preservation. He’s been spending too much time with Han. In the darkness, his hand scrambles on the ground next to him, searching for a rock, anything that he can use as a weapon. His frantic search turns up nothing before his arm is grabbed in a tight but not painful, grasp and he’s tugged to his feet. The sudden change makes his oxygen-deprived brain spin, and he stumbles… right into Darth Vader’s chest. His cheeks burn, and he pulls backward as quickly as he can, vision spinning. 

He tugs against the grip on his arm, but it doesn’t loosen. The pain in his leg flares and he hisses, but then just as quickly, the cold is wrapping around it and cutting off the pain. It’s only then that he notices there’s some makeshift bandage wrapped around it. He can’t see it, but he can feel it against his skin.

“I mean you no harm,” Vader’s voice rumbles, and the cold from the Force washes over all of him this time, calming and comforting. Luke shakes his head, trying to make heads or tails of anything that’s happened. Nothing makes sense. The longer Vader goes without hurting him, the more his fear is overtaken by confusion. Confusion at the man’s motivations, at the woman who was possibly his mother, at Vader’s connection to her and his dad, at Vader’s cloak covering him when he woke and the bandage on his leg, at this temple still muddling his senses. “Can you walk?” comes Vader’s voice again, cutting through Luke’s thoughts. 

Luke jolts, surprised, in the man’s grasp, looking upwards to his mask. He can still only barely make out the outline of it in the darkness, and Vader’s presence in the Force is closed off tightly, no hint to what he’s feeling or planning. He nods slowly in response to Vader’s question, unsure before he realizes it’s too dark to see. But he doesn’t get the chance to rectify his mistake before the man responds, “Good. We must move now and find another exit.”

Right, another exit. Why hadn’t Luke thought of that? Before he can even attempt to list out all the reasons, he hears the snap-hiss of a lightsaber, and then a red glow illuminates their surroundings. He flinches in anticipation of being cut down, but when Vader lifts it, he realizes the man’s just using it as a light source. He blinks slowly. That makes sense, his exhausted brian whispers; Vader had said they would find another exit together. 

Luke examines the hall for the first time. It’s now apparent to him that what he thought was the collapse of the entire temple was just the entrance and ceiling near it, effectively blocking their way out. The darkened hall continues on in the other direction. Luke can’t see the end, can see nothing beyond the circle of red light. But he knows it ends. He hadn’t been able to explore much before Vader grabbed him and started dragging him out, but he knows he hadn’t seen an exit on the opposite side of the temple.

Nevertheless, Vader begins walking away from the rubble, down the long hall. His hand on Luke’s arm tugs lightly to get him to follow. It’s gentler than anything he could have expected from the man. Luke’s surprise only lasts a minute before he gathers himself, and then he’s pulling against the iron grip even as Vader continues walking, ignoring his struggles. “I can walk by myself, you know.” Luke grits out, pulling and digging his heels into the gravel. He’s all for finding an exit, and it’s probably best to stick with the Sith lord until they find a way out. He doesn’t need to escape from Vader while also trying to find the exit, but just because it's more efficient for them to stay together, at least for now, doesn’t mean he needs to be pulled around like baggage.

To his surprise, Vader stops abruptly. Luke has to throw his arm out to steady himself as he barely manages to avoid running into Vader’s back. The towering figure rounds on him, and Luke shrinks a little, fear creeping back in. But Vader releases his arm and only swings a finger in his face, “Do not try to escape. I will find you.” Luke can do nothing but nod. Vader’s tone brooks no argument as if by speaking, he wills it, and the universe obeys. He turns swiftly, stalking off down the hall, this time seemingly angling for a hallway branching off the main part of the temple. Luke hadn’t even noticed it. It doesn’t help that the temple is still muddling his already weak grasp of the Force.

“Keep up,” Vader’s voice echoes through the hall, sending shivers down Luke’s spine, and he hurries to catch up to the bobbing circle of red light surrounding the dark menace, for some unexplainable reason not wanting to be alone in the heavy silence without Vader’s footsteps and respirator.

They turn down the smaller hallway in silence. They walk and walk, occasionally turning down different hallways. They all look the same, and Luke is sufficiently lost. His body aches, and questions and emotions are swirling through his head. Vader never falters, even as the temperature gradually begins to increase. 

Luke swipes at the sweat gathering at his temple and stumbles, the pain in his leg slowly growing. The air is heavy and humid, pressing down on him like it wants to bury him. He’s reminded that he hasn’t had water for quite some time. His throat burns. 

The silence is broken only by their footsteps, Vader’s respirator, and Luke’s uneven breathing. But even those sounds are muffled as if far away, the silence weighing on his ears.

Finally, he can’t take it anymore. His fear of Vader’s wrath is outweighed by the feeling that he’s going to go insane if the silence continues. He wants answers anyway, so he starts with the simplest of his questions, “Do you know where you’re going?” He thinks it’s a reasonable question, considering, and he knows he’s untrained, but he wonders if the haziness surrounding them in the Force is also making it harder for Vader to sense anything. 

He half expects the Sith to round on him and cut him down where he stands for the question, but he makes no move to turn, just continues walking, cape flapping around his heels, except for the torn off corner that Luke realizes is wrapped around his leg as a bandage. Vader’s respirator cycles another ten times, and Luke resigns himself to the silence before Vader finally answers. “Yes,” is all he says.

Luke starts at the sudden sound, his foot catching on the uneven floor, but he steadies himself. He still can’t sense anything behind Vader’s shields, but as they turn another corner, he highly doubts the man is telling the truth. A small smirk stretches across his face at the thought: Sith lord Darth Vader lost in an underground system of tunnels. Han would have laughed endlessly at the idea. He already misses them, Han and Leia.

His luck with not incurring Vader’s wrath seems to be holding, though, so he takes another gamble, an infinitely larger one this time, but why not. He has a guess but better to be sure, if Vader doesn’t kill him for mentioning it, “Who was that woman, the one who appeared?”

Sure enough, Vader’s anger is suddenly palpable in the Force as he slams to a stop, whirling on Luke, darkness spearing for him in an all too familiar scene. He flinches, eyes slamming shut, and throws his hands up in front of his face on instinct. He knows it won’t do anything against Vader’s rage.

But nothing happens. The rage almost palpable enough to touch hasn’t quite dissipated, but it’s pulled back, swirling around Vader in a tightly controlled storm. Luke slowly, warily opens his eyes and drops his arms. It’s another tense minute before Vader speaks, a grating sound as he leashes his anger, “I do not wish to speak of her.” And then he’s marching onwards. Luke scrambles to keep up.

Strangely, Vader’s shields don’t suck all the man’s emotion back in. It stays whipping around him, almost visible as Luke stumbles behind him. He’s not sure Vader’s aware of his still perceivable emotion. The Force acts strangely here, twisting away from any attempt to command it. Luke can sense anger, yes, but also other emotions, grief and shame and pain. He pulls back, not sure he’s ready to try to understand those. 

Instead, he tries his luck again, a less sensitive topic this time, one not related to Vader, “What happened here?” The Force is whispering of something, something painful, but Luke can’t tell what.

The response comes quicker this time, the storm around Vader oddly lessening, as if he doesn’t mind Luke’s questions, “It was once a Jedi temple, as you know.” Luke nods even though Vader’s not looking at him. That’s why he’d come here, searching for clues about the Jedi and maybe even his father. “There was a massacre here, long before the empire or republic. Many Jedi and Sith were killed.” 

Luke shudders, once again glancing around the empty tunnel, half expecting to see evidence of death and pain painted on the rough-hewn walls. But only the Force shows any sign of the tragedy. He wonders what these tunnels were used for.

Before he can try to understand anymore, he’s distracted by another unintelligible whisper in the Force. It ruffles his hair, and he peers over his shoulder. There’s nothing but yawning darkness and oppressive heat, no other hint of wind or anything else in the tunnel. He blinks wearily, ready to be done with all this, but then there’s the hum of a lightsaber right next to his face. He wrenches his eyes open, heart pounding in his chest, sure Vader has decided to relieve him of his head. But there’s nothing there. He rubs at his temple and ignores the Force this time as he turns back. 

Vader hasn’t stopped moving, the light of his saber already distant. Luke debates calling out for him to wait, but the man had told him to keep up. Luke doesn’t want to anger him any more than he already has. Strange, though, that he hasn’t noticed Luke falling behind. The Force seems to be more of a hindrance in this place than a help. Luke shakes his head and starts down the tunnel again.

He can’t see the ground in front of him without Vader’s lightsaber, still distant. His body is begging for him to rest. He thinks his leg might have started bleeding again. But all his attention is taken up by the pounding pain growing behind his eyes. His arm darts out to steady himself on the tunnel wall as he once again stumbles, his fingers scraping roughly against the rock. The whispers in the Force have gotten louder, some rising to screams in his ears without the menacing presence of Vader close enough to keep them away.

He stops, leaning heavily against the wall, yelling and the hum of nonexistent lightsabers loud in his ears. He can’t block out the pain of the dead pounding in his head. The flashes of faces in his periphery are wide in terror, and he wants to scream himself. They want someone to know their pain, and Luke, not knowing how to shield, is their only outlet. And he wants to help them, but his head feels ready to explode. His hands are twisted in his hair as if he can yank the voices from his head. He tries reaching out through the Force to calm them, but there is no relief.

His vision won’t focus enough for him to try to find Vader, and he doesn’t want to, but he admits he prefers the storm of wild emotion around the Sith to the overwhelming pain currently crushing him. He slides to the floor, legs unwilling to hold his weight, and reaches out, searching for Vader, for any other emotion besides pain and death.

He can’t find him, can’t find anything; the pain is unending. The ghosts swirling around him keep cutting off his attempts to reach for the Force, for Vader. He brings his legs in closer, wrapping his arms around them, back against the wall, as he tries to push the screams out.

A bright red light pierces through the haze of his vision, and he glances up. Vader stands there, lightsaber unsheathed, and Luke almost sighs in relief as the voices retreat slightly in his presence.

But there’s something wrong. Vader’s Force presence is… unfamiliar. The cold is gone, a burning fire in its place. And then the red saber is rising and falling right towards Luke’s chest. He has a moment to think that maybe this isn’t Darth Vader before it strikes him. It doesn’t feel like he expected. There’s no pain. He can’t see Vader anymore, or the red lightsaber. But then, the screams are crashing into him again, filling his chest where he’d thought the saber had struck him. A scream is caught in his throat as his vision blackens and falls away from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who knows when there'll be another chapter but I'm enjoying this story so hopefully soon! i do have finals next week tho so idk. thank you guys for sticking with me though!


	3. memories are what haunt people, images of the lost in the corner of eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that he’s closer, it’s easier to sense the boy. The cold returns in a wave: all he can sense is pain and grief. The light from his saber is extinguished as he tucks it back on his belt; his suit’s vision is enough as he reaches for his son. Luke doesn’t move at Vader’s slight touch on his arm or when Vader shakes him gently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter switches to vader's pov part way through. he's kinda hard for me to write for some reason so i hope it's ok and you guys enjoy it :)

There’s fire. It’s burning. There are bodies. Luke knows who they are. He doesn’t want to. His eyes sting from the smoke and the sand. Or maybe that’s the tears. His guardians, his only family, are gone. And the sky's still blue. Ben’s still waiting. There’s a whole galaxy still moving. But Luke can’t… can’t move. He’s frozen in the oppressive heat. They’re gone, and they’re never coming back. The universe shouldn’t be moving when Luke can’t. Why hasn’t it stopped? Why hasn’t everything changed? He wants to scream, wants to look away. His chest feels empty.

And then they’re gone, the smoke sweeping away the last remnants of his family. He can’t breathe. But there’s Ben. He wants to sigh in relief at the sight of the old man. He doesn’t notice the red blade swinging towards Ben’s chest until it’s too late. And then he does scream, his voice finally able to echo out. It feels muffled. There’s not even a body this time, just a discarded cloak and lightsaber. The yawning chasm in his chest widens. Vader notices him, stalks towards him, his footsteps heavy, his breathing louder than anything should be. 

Luke tries to scramble away, but his movements are slowed, like trying to wade through water. And then his hands are wrapped around the controls of an x-wing. He glances over his shoulder. Vader hasn’t left. He’s there, in his TIE. But it’s not Luke he’s after. And that’s worse. Luke feels more than sees Biggs’ fighter explode in a ball of blazing light. It echoes through the Force, chased by fire, burning flames.

Luke chokes on air, chest gaping as wide as the space that surrounds him. At least space has the stars to fill it. Luke has nothing, nothing to ease the grief and guilt dripping from a gaping wound in his chest. He recognizes enough to know them for memories, but that doesn’t mean he can escape, escape the screams in his ear that sound like Leia and Han and Wedge. They’re not dead. He doesn’t remember them dying. He doesn’t… 

There’s fire. It’s burning. Again.

<<<>>>

He wants to knock everything down. His fist clenches at his side, the Force swirling around him. This confounded temple is trying to cut him off. The thin thread in the Force leading them out is tenuous in his grasp as he stalks down the tunnels, his senses clouded. He shoves the echoes back again as they drift closer. Their infernal screeching refuses to stop. Vader resists the urge to bring the temple collapsing down. He would undoubtedly survive, but he will not risk the boy. 

The foolish boy. What had he been thinking, trying to break Vader’s mental shields? It’s a wonder Vader hadn’t killed him. His rage falls away in a rush, replaced by cold and fear. The boy could have died.  _ Luke _ could have died. The screaming swirling in the Force sounds like him… and her. He’d carefully pushed away what had happened before the temple collapsed. He refuses to think of the apparition, the illusion. But every time he looks at the boy… He has her nose.

He wrenches himself away from those thoughts. It’s this temple, pulling… memories from him that had endangered the boy. His familiar anger returns in a rush, and he pushes the unrecognizable screams away. Luke is behind him, within reach. They just need to find a way out.

Then the thin thread pulling him forwards, towards their escape, snaps. He snarls, anger growing. As soon as they leave, he’s going to send this Force-forsaken temple crumbling to dust. He spins, cloak snapping at his heels, to tell the boy to hurry up, but there’s no one there but the echoes and darkness. The coldness returns to his chest, pushing away the familiar burning of rage. He grasps blindly for the flames, but they slip through his fingers, fear filling their place.

So that’s what the Force had been hiding from him, surrounding him as it stole his son from his senses. Even as he reaches for his son, the spirits grow louder and throw themselves between him and Luke, growling and screaming. Vader pushes through them, already stalking back down the tunnel, his lightsaber gripped tightly in his hand. He’d ignited it as a light for Luke. His suit and the Force provide him enough vision not to need it but now… now it is a weapon again.

He tears through the ghosts in the Force, searching for Luke’s brightness. It’s normally like a supernova in the Force, always projecting his presence. Vader had vowed to remedy that so the emperor could never find him, no matter how much it pained him to think of his son’s bright presence dimmed. Now all he wants as he pushes past screams and pain is to find that agonizing brightness that means Luke is alright.

There, a flash of light. It burns at the darkness in Vader, but he latches onto it and follows it. He’s familiar with burning, after all. And there, finally, he finds Luke’s consciousness, the fear dimming slightly. Vader decidedly does not run, but if he picks up his pace to reach Luke, well, there’s no one around to see.

Now that he’s closer, it’s easier to sense the boy. The cold returns in a wave: all he can sense is pain and grief. The light from his saber is extinguished as he tucks it back on his belt; his suit’s vision is enough as he reaches for his son. Luke doesn’t move at Vader’s slight touch on his arm or when Vader shakes him gently.

Vader reaches through the Force to wake the boy, but his efforts do nothing. Luke is trapped in a cycle of fire and death and fear. Vader sees flashes of images. There are sand and skeletons. Luke stands stricken. Then he sees… himself, towering in Luke’s memory as he strikes down the traitorous Kenobi. But again, his anger fails him. The boy is frightened of him. He watches himself almost kill the boy over the death star. Something fills his chest, a long-forgotten emotion… guilt?

Luke shudders under his hand, face contorting in pain. Vader pulls back. Nothing he does can wake him from the Force-induced trance. The echoes are laughing as they swirl around him. Vader feels helpless, something he has not felt in two decades. The feeling joins the emptiness slowly freezing his insides as he watches Luke wince. He would do anything to take the pain from his son, but all his attempts to stop it or contain the emotion feel like water slipping through his fingers. 

His hand drifts towards Luke’s face, resting on his cheek. He can’t feel anything through his cybernetics. He drops his hand, preparing to pick the boy up and carry him away in the hopes that whisking him away will solve this. But suddenly, the Force quiets, the clamoring echoes scattered.

When he looks up, she’s there, again. The respirator doesn’t manage to stop his breathing from stuttering. His heart clenches painfully. “Padme,” it’s barely a whisper. She looks different this time, still beautiful, but this isn’t a memory. There are flowers in her hair. The spirits are quiet as he looks at her and feels something shatter within him, or maybe something mends. He’s long forgotten the difference.

She smiles softly, sadly. Memories are rising, unbidden, to his mind. Her hand floats towards Luke, illuminating his face with the light she radiates, and her fingers rest on his cheek, soft and small. Luke turns into the touch as he hadn’t with Vader. Her gaze lingers on the boy a moment longer, and then she looks back up to Vader, who still kneels, frozen, the pain in his chest a menacing creature tearing him apart.

A memory he thought he’d forgotten, that hand resting on his cheek, so similar to how it rests on Luke’s. She smiles then, as if she can tell what he’s thinking. Her head inclines toward Luke, curly dark hair falling forward, a slight nod, and Vader understands.

His hand again rises towards Luke’s cheek, a mirror of the woman on the other side. He closes his eyes and lets her proximity pull long-forgotten memories to the surface: thoughts and pain and grief he’d buried beneath anger and hate and rage. He pushes the memories, still full of light, of long ago, untainted by despair because of their long burial, into Luke’s mind, shoving the grief of his son’s memories away. Reliving them is a pain like he’s never known, but he feels Luke relax as he experiences the joy his father had once felt in those moments. Only for his son. He would shoulder any hurt for the boy. 

There’s a light pressure against his cybernetic hand resting on Luke’s cheek. His eyes flicker open, and Padme’s ghostly hand rests on top of his. She smiles, and he blinks at its intensity, a sun exploding -- she fades away -- and then snuffing out, darkness taking her place.

The anger has no time to return to its familiar place in his chest as Luke jolts under his hand, eyes flickering open as he groans, finally woken from the nightmarish trance. Vader’s vision is in shades of red and black, but the boy’s eyes are light, not the dark color of his mother’s. They must be blue, as Vader’s had once been.

Those blue eyes blink dazedly, then meet Vader’s gaze with uncanny accuracy through the mask. “Father?” 


	4. some things cannot be explained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sure enough, the boy retorts defiantly, “I’m a person! My name is Anakin.”
> 
> The girl says something else but Luke’s world has shifted beneath his feet. It can’t be… but it must be. Anakin. And then the world really does move beneath his feet and he’s falling away from the shop on Tattooine into darkness, his mind reeling. Why is the Force showing him this, showing him his father?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters in one day? unheard of, but here we are. this is in honor of hayden christensen returning to sw because it has brought me so much joy. don't get too used to this update schedule tho lol. 
> 
> we're back to Luke's pov with some explanation of what happened last chapter. hope you like it!
> 
> (some lines from the movies were used)

Through the grief and pain, Luke feels a steadying warmth. It doesn’t stop the fear or the endless cycle of the most painful moments of his life, but it’s there, pressing at the back of his mind, a reminder of comfort and safety. He turns towards it as much as he can. 

And then the flames surrounding him start to dim, the overwhelming explosions and death seem to fade, as if all color has been leeched from the scenes, as if they’re only memories (maybe they are), as if he can separate himself from them. It feels like sucking in a deep breath after being deprived of oxygen. He’s reminded of a flash of darkness and hands wrapped around his throat, but that image is brushed aside by something else, a cold fire; even as the comforting warmth in the back of his mind fades, the cold takes its place, wrapping around him. And then it retreats, still there but no longer as large, hanging over him in… concern? It’s hard to trace the emotion here, in this in-between space. 

A new image rises to fill the void: Tattooine, a shop, parts scattered around almost haphazardly, though Luke can tell there’s a meticulous order to the chaos. He knows it’s not his memory. 

A small boy sits on the counter, eyes fixed on something behind Luke. He turns, following the boy’s gaze, and sees the woman. She’s younger here, no less beautiful but a little less sad. He knows he’s staring, his wonderstruck gaze not unfamiliar to the small boy behind him. She looks so like Leia, the same warmth in the Force radiating from her.

A voice from behind him startles him out of his awe. “Are you an angel?” Luke pivots back to look at the boy, and almost smiles at the apparent infatuation.

“What?” the girl replies, obviously startled by his question as well.

“An angel. I've heard the deep space pilots talk about them. They are the most beautiful creatures in the universe. They live on the moons of Iego, I think,” the boy answers. Luke watches on in amusement as they talk.

“You're a funny little boy. How do you know so much?” Luke thinks the girl shares his amusement at the situation as she smiles slightly.

“I listen to all the traders and star pilots that come by here. I'm a pilot, you know, and someday I'm gonna fly away from this place.” 

Luke feels a sudden kinship with the boy. How often had he wanted to escape the desert planet? When he had been young, he’d waited in the sand for hours, staring up at the stars, convinced his father was alive, and hoping, hoping that the man would descend and whisk him away from a life of monotony. It had never happened, but he never stopped wanting to fly away. The cold fire still wrapped around him flares, but Luke ignores it as the conversation continues.

“You're a pilot?” Some of her amusement and uninterested demeanor has been replaced by curiosity as she glances at the boy’s slight frame, obviously doubtful.

“All my life,” the boy says, his chest puffing a bit in pride. Luke hides a smile behind his hand.

“How long have you been here?” the girl inquires.

“Since I was very little, three, I think. My mom and I were sold to Gardulla the Hutt, but she lost us, betting on the Podraces,” the boy says.

Something in Luke’s chest aches for the little boy sparking a memory of his own heritage. His aunt and uncle had told him the stories: he is the first free-born Skywalker in generations of slaves. He’d never really understood the weight of that. His guardians had tried to keep him away from the pain of slavery, which still held Tattooine in its grasp.

“You're ... a slave?” the girl says in bewilderment. Definitely from one of the core worlds then, Luke thinks even as he winces at her words.

Sure enough, the boy retorts defiantly, “I’m a person! My name is Anakin.”

The girl says something else, but Luke’s world has shifted beneath his feet. It can’t be… but it must be.  _ Anakin.  _ And then the world really does move beneath his feet, and he’s falling away from the shop on Tattooine into darkness, his mind reeling. Why is the Force showing him this, showing him his father?

And then his feet are planted firmly again, this time in a wide-open, grassy field. There’s so much green. And water. Luke finds he can almost taste the spray of the nearby waterfall in the air. There, laughing in the grass, the woman and a boy, no older than Luke is. The Force whispers that it is his father, the same boy from the shop. They roll and laugh, and as Luke feels their happiness, he can’t help but smile.

Images begin to run together before his eyes. One bleeds into the next. His father, a Jedi. A secret marriage. Obi-wan laughing with his father. R2 beeping happily as Anakin pats his dome. Anakin and a young togruta smiling. Moments filled with pure and unrestrained joy, so different from his own pain-filled memories that had trapped him before.

And then the woman, Padme, his mother, is cradling Anakin’s face and whispering those fateful words, “Ani, I’m pregnant.” There’s hesitation and uncertainty on her face, but Luke feels her happiness.

“That’s… That’s wonderful,” his father replies and smiles widely. Luke’s own smile tears at his cheeks: his parents had wanted him. Before he’d even been him, they’d been happy, excited to know him. 

And then his heart almost shatters when he realizes they’d never gotten the chance to know him.  _ He’d never gotten the chance to know them. _ Would they have been proud of him? The grief pulls him down once more, drowning him. The cold wrapped around him reaches for him, almost desperately.

And then something snaps. The galaxy freezes. As if the Force has finally given Luke all the clues, a collection of moments, all driving him towards one realization. It’s a cascade in his mind. He finally recognizes the comforting cold in his mind.  _ Vader. _ The memory of the woman, his mother, crashes back into him, her pleading in the temple echoing in his ears.  _ Anakin, you’re breaking my heart. _ She’d called Vader… Anakin. Those memories had been Vader’s, his father’s murderer. 

No… his father.

The galaxy starts again, and Luke wants it to stop. Everything’s shifted in a circle. Nothing makes sense. But the Force is whispering the truth to him. He can’t ignore it. Something shatters in his chest: his view of the galaxy, his view of himself. What is he doomed to become? What had caused his father to become… this? 

But for what shatters, something else mends: His father is alive. He has a chance to know him. Vader -- his father -- had bandaged his leg, had wrapped him in his cloak. Maybe there’s something left of the man that had laughed and been happy and wanted to know his son. The part of him that had waited for years for his father to rescue him reawakens and  _ aches.  _ It aches so acutely he thinks his chest might explode. 

Then he realizes that’s not in his head. His chest burns, and so does the rest of his body. His eyes flutter as the nerves in his body reconnect with his brain only to send signals of pain, temporarily making him forget his realization. It feels as though he’s sprinted for hours. He groans, and it echoes loudly.

His hazy vision brings the outline of Vader into sight, dark even against the darkness. The Force nudges him, quiet for the first time since he’d entered the temple. The appellation slips from his lips without his permission or realization, “Father?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahahaha i managed to end on the same cliff hanger twice. i love when i do that. sorry y'all lol


	5. when does everything become nothing?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s too much. The silence is heavy. He can feel it weighing on his tongue, and the Force is pressing the truth to the front of his mind. He can no longer deny it with only the whispered mantra in his head. He has to say something. If he breaks the silence, denies it, perhaps it will all disappear. He tries to steady his breathing but it comes out gasping anyway, as if he’s being choked again, “It’s not- It can’t be. You’re not-” He can’t say anything more, doesn’t know if his voice will continue without breaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listened to the evermore album on repeat while writing this. I don't know why that fact is relevant but I just thought you all should know. hope you enjoy!

His lagging brain takes a moment to process what he’s said. Vader’s eerily still, his Force presence frozen. When the word finally registers in his head Luke flinches, jerking away from the leather-covered hand he dimly realizes had been resting on his cheek. Vader doesn’t move at Luke’s scramble backward, his hand falling from Luke without a fight. The absolute stillness is terrifying. 

His body aches at his movement as if by learning that -- he shakes his head pushing the thought away -- as if by learning… what he had, that the Force had drained all the energy from his body. Or at least what had been left after Vader, his -- he chokes on the word and ignores it -- had strangled him.

The ache in his limbs also seems to reawaken the ache in his chest for a father he’d never known, never thought he would be able to know. That traitorous part of him remembers the feel of Vader’s hand resting lightly on his cheek and wishes he hadn’t moved away. He curses that thought and pushes it away.

Suddenly, Vader moves with a jolt, his outline stretching and growing until he’s towering over Luke’s shaking form in the darkness. The ghosts that had assaulted his mind are gone, leaving only himself and Vader in the Force. And Vader’s presence is still eerily silent, everything once again trapped behind durasteel walls. Luke wants to throw up, thinks he might have if he’d eaten anything in the last rotation. As it is, his stomach can only flip painfully.

There’s nowhere to go, the darkness around them complete. Vader’s chest plate blinks steadily, and his respirator is the only thing that marks the passage of time as Luke sits, heaving, trying to ignore, escape, deny, anything, to escape the truth pushing at his temple.

It’s too much. The silence is heavy. He can feel it weighing on his tongue, and the Force is pressing the truth to the front of his mind. He can no longer deny it with only the whispered mantra in his head. He has to say something. If he breaks the silence, denies it, perhaps it will all disappear. He tries to steady his breathing, but it comes out gasping anyway, as if he’s being choked again, “It’s not- It can’t be. You’re not-” He can’t say anything more, doesn’t know if his voice will continue without breaking.

Maybe now Vader will deny it, rebuke him, and manhandle him out of this temple to be executed for blowing up the death star. And while he doesn’t want that, doesn’t want to die, it would make sense, more sense than anything that’s happened in this temple. 

There’s silence, the respirator echoing, and then, “The Force does not lie young one.”

Luke squeezes his eyes shut, hands clenching. He can feel the Force gathering around them in preparation for the man’s next words, and he desperately hopes the darkness will hide him from their impact. It does no such thing.

“I am your father, Luke.”

Silence, terrifying, bone-chilling silence as the words echo loudly in the enclosed space. The echo doesn’t fade, bouncing off the walls, a neverending damnation.

And then Luke pushes with all the pent up emotion trapped in his head, confusion, anger, grief, guilt, anxiety, longing, fear. It bursts forth in a wave of the Force. The walls at his back, the ground beneath him: everything shudders. Vader is forced to take a step backward with the force of the push. Luke doesn’t care. He just wants to be anywhere else. He can feel the tears starting to gather.

Distantly Luke registers that the world around him hasn’t stopped shaking. His father -- No, Vader -- is speaking, a deep rumble… or maybe that’s the walls shuddering. Something latches onto his arm in a tight grip and yanks him forward. He stumbles to his feet, his injured leg collapsing under him at the sudden change, but the hand on his arm hauls him further forward regardless. He feels a jarring rumble beneath his feet, and he falls to the hard ground before silence descends again, the shaking gone.

He glances over his shoulder, lungs burning as he coughs and eyes watering as he tries to see through plumes of dust. Finally, he makes out the collapsed tunnel behind him, filled in with rubble. Distantly he thinks that he must have done that. He remembers the collapse of the temple entrance. Maybe he and his father aren’t so different.

That terrifying thought is interrupted by his father- No, Vader’s hand coming to rest lightly on Luke’s back where he sits sprawled on the floor. He suddenly remembers who’s behind him, who had pulled him from the collapse. He flinches away, trying to make out Vader’s intent. All he senses is a muted sense of… disappointment? He almost snorts. That’s somehow the only thing that makes sense. Of course his father’s disappointed to have Luke as a son. He’d almost killed them both just now with his complete lack of understanding of the Force.

A wave of freezing anger bursts forth even as he thinks that, whirling around him, whipping at the edges of Vader’s cape. There's sadness and guilt there too. “You will not-” In his anger, Vader seems to be struggling for words. It’s unsettling to witness. “Do not think such things.”

Luke’s too confused to be frightened of the now muted anger still whispering around him. Think what? That his father is disappointed in him? The anger flares slightly, and Luke doesn’t know how to process that. His -- he sucks in a breath between gritted teeth, the rock digging into his hands -- his  _ father _ , for neither the Force nor the man in question is letting him deny it, is a menace, a monster. He’s killed so many people. Luke isn’t sure how to reconcile that with the man who saved him from being crushed, who bandaged his leg, who he’s starting to suspect might have had a hand in pulling him from the grasp of the enraged spirits.

His image of his father, a young, compassionate Jedi knight, the one from the memories, is slowly crumpling under the weight of Vader’s unyielding gaze wrapped in cold fire. How can they possibly be the same person?

Apparently, the man has decided Luke has had enough time to process because he grabs Luke’s arm once again and hauls him to his feet. “We must keep moving.”

Luke stumbles, trying to find his footing with an injured leg, and stares blankly at his father’s retreating back. He glances behind him at the way they came, but the rubble leaves no way back. The only way now is forward. Begrudgingly, he steps after his father. Before he can even ask, Vader’s signature red saber reignites ahead of him, casting light over the uneven ground so Luke can see. 

He feels numb. There had been too many emotions in too short a time. His brain is sluggish, overwhelmed by too much information. He’s not sure if he imagines it but the dark form in front of him seems slower, closer than it had before when he’d been left behind. The cold presence,  _ his father, _ he thinks dimly, is hovering loosely around the edges of his consciousness as if worried he might collapse. Distantly he worries about the same thing, but another thought eclipses his worry: could his father possibly care about him? The answer is tugging at him, but he doesn’t have the strength to examine it, not right now. And so he follows his father further into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your comments on this so far have been so positive and kind. they make me so happy so just wanted to thank you guys again!


	6. (is it a good thing or a bad thing?) maybe it just is.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are questions, so many questions. But the most pressing one is what does his- Vader- no, his… father want with him? What is he going to do with him if they ever get out of here? He desperately wants to ask but doesn’t know quite how to start, doesn’t know if he wants to find out the answer. What if his fate hasn’t changed? He did blow up the death star, after all. Does being Darth Vader’s son have any bearing on what he had thought would be his execution?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's kinda short but hope you enjoy!

Luke’s starting to think the temple doesn’t actually have another exit, that all these tunnels will end in dead ends. They’ve been walking for hours. How many he can’t be sure, but his body is telling him too many. With every step, he’s afraid his injured leg will finally collapse or catch on a ridge in the rock, sending him sprawling. He knows if that happens, he won’t be able to pull himself to his feet. His throat still burns, crying for water, and his entire body seems to have lost all energy.

And that’s just his body. His mind is worse: still reeling from, well, everything. It feels like a strange, biting emptiness trying to accommodate too much. Vaguely he registers that that’s probably the shock. And still, the cold fire, his… father, hovers around him, not quite touching but buffering. He thinks maybe that’s why the wailing of the ghosts hasn’t returned, and he’s not going to complain about that.

There are questions, so many questions. But the most pressing one is what does his- Vader- no, his… father want with him? What is he going to do with him if they ever get out of here? He desperately wants to ask but doesn’t know quite how to start, doesn’t know if he wants to find out the answer. What if his fate hasn’t changed? He did blow up the death star, after all. Does being Darth Vader’s son have any bearing on what he had thought would be his execution?

He doesn’t know the answers, and his body is increasingly telling him that the questions shouldn’t be his main priority right now. His eyes slip shut for a moment, dragged down by exhaustion, and he stumbles. His eyes shoot open in alarm, and he barely manages to grab onto the wall to stop himself from falling. However, the whole weight of his body comes down on his shaking hand, and the sharp-edged rock wall cuts straight into his palm. He hisses, and it echoes loudly in the emptiness. The cold surrounding him suddenly draws closer, questioning and concerned as he pulls his hand up to his face, trying to see the damage. It’s too dark for him to make out anything but the vague outline of his hand, but the blood is sticky against his skin, and his head spins a bit.

He doesn’t even notice his father until he’s standing in front of him again, the red saber pointed at the ground casting his figure into menacing shadows on the walls. Luke doesn’t even flinch at his sudden appearance, his brain too slow to register his previous fear. Only numbness remains.

He realizes his legs are no longer going to support him before they collapse, and so he leans back against the wall and allows himself to slide down until he’s sitting, his vision shaky. He’s so tired.

And then the red light casting dancing shadows and echoes across the darkness is gone. The only light now comes from the flashing on his father’s chest plate. He blinks slowly, trying to focus. 

Then there’s something brushing across his bloody palm. He would have flinched if he’d had any energy, but he doesn’t. It’s soon apparent that the leather-covered, strong hands mean no harm as they hold his palm steady and hover over the deep cut. It’s almost comforting, the swirling darkness soothing the pulsing pain of his leg and palm in equal measure. He knows it’s his father this time.

Somehow that tiny piece of knowledge helps him finally find his voice. It’s rough and strange to his ears, almost muffled in the oppressive heat and weight of the darkness when he finally speaks, “What… What do you want… with me?” It’s halting and maybe a little slurred, but he knows his father has heard him. 

The darkness lightly caresses his mind, the respirator a steady presence in the silence. He feels something -- cloth his brain supplies -- being slowly and gently wrapped around his palm by strong hands. “You are my son,” comes the deep, rumbling voice. “No harm will come to you.”

Luke doesn’t know whether to laugh, probably hysterically, or be reassured by that. And the answer doesn’t quite answer his question, but before he can ask again, his father seems to recognize his intent and speaks, “I will explain everything later, for now,  _ rest, _ young one.” There’s a gentle command there, and Luke feels his eyes shut again, blinking slowly. He still has more questions, but rest sounds better right now, and there’s that comforting cold wrapping around him, and it’s Darth Vader, but it’s also his father, and somehow it feels like safety and comfort.

So he lets go of his tenuous grasp of consciousness and stops resisting his father’s Force suggestion, allowing his eyes to drop shut. Where he’d pushed back against the calming blanket of cold earlier that day, now he welcomes it. The darkness behind his eyelids is barely different than the darkness of the tunnel. 

As sleep claims him, he feels the brush of a hand across his face, gently sweeping his hair off his forehead, and then the ground beneath him disappears, and he’s being lifted. He leans into the person,  _ his father _ , carrying him, content to rest, and not worry for a moment. It all still seems surreal, and maybe it’s the shock, but he thinks, despite all odds, that maybe his father does care, and maybe that's enough for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if i ever get any more ideas or inspiration to continue this i might make it a series, we'll see
> 
> anyway thank you guys for following along and commenting! your positive feedback and kind compliments on this fic made me so happy!! don't forget to come talk to me on tumblr if you want to :)

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys liked it leave a comment. They make my day! Seriously I love reading them so please leave me one cause they motivate me to write more! if you guys have ideas for other stories send me an ask on tumblr [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/imadetheline) or just yell about stuff with me. Info about me and all my other tumblrs are [here](https://infoabtmaddie.carrd.co/#)


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